Category Archives: Haibun

Rejoice – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun Monday with an invitation to write about bird songs.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Bird Songs

Photo: a cormorant or shag sitting on the boardwalk at Bunbury Wetlands.

“I once asked a bird, how is it that you fly in this gravity of darkness? She responded, ‘love lifts me.'” Hafez

Rejoice

I've never not heard a bird sing. There's never been a moment when bird song has failed to cut through the joy or tragedy of a day, to surmount the ineffable experiences of life or the tumult of blood
rush, some conjured excitement or foreboding feeling.

I've heard magpies in the heat of the night, curlews before a storm, the flit and twit of honeyeaters no matter the rain, the wattle bird's beak snapping through my mind, crows in the haze of bush fire, the beautiful song of the butcher bird in the middle of a wedding.

Birds, those harbingers of joy, care not for our circumstances and yet they conspire to bring us unbridled joy. Their's is a life sung and we are the privileged guests for their performance. There's never been a moment when I haven't rejoiced in the song of a bird.

Musk duck quinks a joy
as rain washes the low reeds
songs part autumn clouds




Note: Quink is the closest onomatopoeia to the sound of the musk duck I could come up with and then I found it is indeed a word - a type of goose!

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Blossom Delight – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting the Haibun (prose plus haiku) with an invitation to write about Cherry Blossom.

dVerse Poets – Haibun Monday – Cherry Blossoms

Photo: wallpapersin4k.org

“What a strange thing! To be alive beneath cherry blossoms.” Kobayashi Issa

Blossom Delight

The beauty of cherry blossom carries and obvious feminine comparison. So many possible metaphors of bloom, petals, pastel, limb and fruit, and not least strong roots. And what a spectacle it is, the few we have here catch my eye and set my heart alight every spring and summer.

But not my palate. While my lover loves to gorge on cherries, I prefer just looking at the blossom as the fruit is not to my taste, though I admit, it looks fabulous and feels good too it is not a fruit I enjoy. And that is so true of many things, as is the reverse. My lover is my delighting fruit, but there are many blossoms to appreciate along the avenue of life.

Cherry had beauty
smooth limbs budding before me
rising love blossoms



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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No Bluff On The Knoll – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting the Haibun with an invitation to write inspired by Hanshan (Cold Mountain) the mystical figure of Chinese poetry (9th C) – option 1 to write about a mountain experience real or metaphorical, or 2 to follow the experience of Hanshan. For more detail, follow the link below.

dVerse Poets – Haibun Monday – Cold Mountain

Photo: The summit of Bluff Knoll, 1,100 metres shrouded that day in mist (cold and misty at the top, autumnal and warm rainy middle, summer at the bottom).

“My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing.” Aldous Huxley

No Bluff On The Knoll

It wasn't sudden by any means. Autumn was giving leave of senses and we decided, he and I, to create a moment, an event in our lives that mattered in the cool of that meaningful April, when summer was on the run and winter was leaving hints everywhere in our path. We decided on Bluff Knoll, a small but determined mount worthy of a days climb that would fracture our patterned minds, opening us to something new.

We watched each other for signs of something, I don't really know what. But I know he gave of his youth and I surrendered my pretences , he not judging, me simply admitting my limitations and grateful for his patience as I aged along the way. The physical exertion so demanding we were not inclined to talk much, but in the valley of debrief there was deep gratitude. If there is a god, they were in our unspoken, heartfelt glances divine. It was enough.

Before us the knoll
ever the old ways we know
autumn brings new eyes



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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The Unfolding – a Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting the Haibun with an invitation to write about winter.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Winter

Photo: from a couple of years ago, a winter storm rolls in on the south west corner of Western Australia – Augusta, where two oceans meet. The waves sure were thundering in. Visible is the historic waterwheel which fed fresh water to the Lighthouse community behind me. If you look real close there’s a gull on the wooden channel atop the wheel.

“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.” William Blake

The Unfolding

Hitchcockian howl growl winds push water into thunderous demolition of delicate sands, forever changing the face of this coastal scape. Plovers have retreated to the high dunes, gulls and terns have taken refuge. Tomorrow it will slow and the next day it will settle, but nothing will be the same. Every bruise irrevocably changes the fundamental fabric of this tapestry I look upon. Torn limbs and trunks strewn, the line of sand permanently altered, rocks covered or exposed.

The singular delighting indulgence is to brave the aftermath and the cold and walk the littered beach of treasures, shells, driftwood, someones things, the sadness of a dead fish. The gulls scree once again, plovers skitter along and crabs scuttle as if nothing has happened. There is at once a horror and awe at the sheer force of it all, and in both there is the child's eyes.

skies darkening low
wind wraiths storm tender soft sands
trinkets offered up

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Journey To Celebration – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting the Haibun with an invitation to write about Celebration.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Celebration

Photo by Nicole Michalou from Pexels

“And so this is Christmas and what have you done?” John Lennon


Journey To Celebration

La Nina grips our western coast, it's hotter than hell, 45c (113f) up in the city, hot enough to boil my blood. Surely everyone will come to us on the southern coast, no trekking for us this year we're staying bunkered in the coolness.

Soon the days are passing fast and it seems that all are on their way and the journey to celebration has begun. Much sweeping, cooking, decorating, though no bulwark against the christmastide that annually washes over us. And as time inevitably shortens to its point, we hear the news that they're only an hour away. All that must be done is done though imperfectly arranged.

Our apprehensive energy is released at every hug and hello, the food is such a synchromesh of cheer, it garners every word and smile. We ride the lows of politics and the controversies of the family lines while lifting high on living well, of dreams, of visions, of aspirations, our thoughts are projected well.

All too soon we've chewed the fat, and over hours and days all must depart, a small grief occupies our hearts. It seemed a long road to this moment, now it has come and passed, all are sated and spent. The storm we talked up has settled now, and in the quiet of the house we rest in our happy glow.

sun heats the earth
summer celebrations run
a small grief fills hearts


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Thanks For Today – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting the Haibun with an invitation to give thanks.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Giving Thanks

Photo: a bobtailed lizard on its regular journey around the house.

“I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.” William Shakespeare

Thanks For Today

Today was an honest day, one of those hard slog days to make something happen that has waited in abeyance for all the right things to fall into place. The creation of a centre-piece pond that one day soon will be home to koi and lotus. A perfect place to rest awhile and reflect, to find a sit-spot and draw near.

I was engrossed in my tasks, but nature interrupted me. The flutter of a honeyeater next to me working the tree, a diving beetle below me ever hunting, some blue-banded bees stirring the nectar with great care, and a bobtailed lizard sneaking past across the horizon, checking up on me. I drifted into this vista and paused to reflect and give thanks for these precious gifts and the richness of this moment.

one more paving brick
my stack is getting much thinner
diving beetle smiles.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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All The Souls Shall Stir – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun with an invitation to write about something fear.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Fear

Image: wallpapersafari.com

“Samhain is a good time to celebrate the lives of all wise elders ….” Caitlin Matthews

All The Souls Shall Stir


The beady owl cries a deep hoo from the dry papered tree for the sake of the covered bones whispering below my feet, while mossy headstones pull me from my gait to their thrall. Iron spears line the way, rusted as bloody. Tentacles of ivy grab at my heels, as the witching hour creeps in when all the souls shall stir about me and merrily dance around my urgency. I pass by the gatekeeper's house and sense his gaze upon my back, not a candle to be seen. Along the shadowed road I see a hearse, its horses lathered in sweat, but as I turn and look again it has vanished along the icy breeze. If I run it will be too soon and give the game away. I close the door behind me. Tomorrow I shall walk the dead again, but not as tonight, tonight the past lives.

Autumn bares trees
cherry blossom memories
crane flies over me




Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

Note: in Japanese culture it is said that the crane (Tsuru) is symbolic of longevity and good fortune.

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i – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun with an invitation to write about writer’s block.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Writer’s Block

Photo: steve_a_johnson at pixabay.com

“You can’t think your way out of a writing block; you have to write yourself out of a thinking block.” John Rogers

i

The screen mocked my every thought, the arctic white page blinding my eyes as snow on a sunny day, making me squint in the hope of a direction even though I cannot see where I am going. The page an abstracted projection, a freudian note to myself that the page was mirroring my inner malaise of lost consciousness. The page was not unfriendly, we dined together as always. It’s just that the ideas flew past at the speed of sound, refusing to land in my mind. Even the dictionary drowned in my thoughtless fug. But, mercy be, there was the letter i and I’m sticking with that.

circling the blank page
my mind in another room
the curlew calls me


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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I Remember – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun with an invitation to write about first day/returning to school.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Back to School

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

“I failed angst in high school. They let me graduate anyway.” John Scalzi

I Remember

Life was to be lived, no time for study or going to school.I could do the work but it disinterested me and I was more focussed on heading down town. Besides, the roll wasn't checked other than in the morning and after lunch, the pubs didn't worry about proof of age even for the floor show where Stephanie (who looked like Stevie Nicks) in fishnets gave us all her charms. While the newsagent proprietor eyed me carefully lest I would steal a magazine (how did he know?), I read them in store. And the billiard hall was a second home, while I listened to the top forty at Mills Record Bar in the high street every Friday.

Looking back it was the girls I remember most. Rita who was cool and charming, Hedda who dealt hash, lyn who was pregnant, and Leslie who cared, Hannah who seemed ten years older than all of us, and Romy who had a beautiful smile and wore no bra and whose skirt seemed non-existent. I hated school, it was a war zone, but I loved escaping down town, and most all, I remember the girls.


the ducks all gather
chickens return home to roost
night heron flies far away


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Knowing – Haibun – by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse frank is hosting Haibun, with an invitation to write about August.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – August

Video: One of the many cascades along Lesmurdie Brook, Mundy Regional Park.

“In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” Albert Camus

Knowing

The land lies like sodden clumps of wool as winter inexorably crawls towards spring and the hope of warmth tantalisingly held out like an olive branch. This has been a winter of winters, unseen for decades, with icy winds and robust storms aplenty. I took shelter for the most part, unlike previous years when winter seemed more like autumn, which seemed like summer.

This winter has left an indelible mark on me like no other. It offered me reflection and hallowed retreat from the tempest. I have waited for emergence like a chrysalis opening to the world, seeking sacred islands with new eyes. Soon the clumps will dry. I will breathe deeply of August, knowing that its waters gift my spring.

The ground is floating
heaven's tears washing my feet
the sun is smiling



Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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